Plot counterplot, p.5
Plot/Counterplot, page 5
“Tell me who you are. Then I’ll decide whether I want to help you.”
With frightening suddenness, Mr. X clenched her fist and launched it. The blow landed in the soft part of Dylan’s stomach with such explosive force that his head rocketed forward.
The next blow hit his stomach, but lower, closer to the groin. As badly as the first blow had hurt, this one stung a hundred times more. Adrenaline rushed to his head, blotting out other thoughts, making it difficult for him to think.
Mr. X’s whispered voice was so close it made him start. Her face was contorted, twisted. Her eyes were colorless black holes. “You want to know who I am?”
Dylan inhaled in short bursts, trying to subdue the pain. “Who?”
Dylan felt a strong hand clutch his crotch with a crushing grip. “I’m the woman with your balls in the palm of her hand.”
She squeezed.
The pain was intense, crippling, unbearable. And when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, she squeezed even harder.
“I hope you and that bitch you’re screwing aren’t planning on children,” Mr. X said, her voice right in his ear.
Dylan’s eyes watered. He kept his lips shut tight, refusing to make a sound. He was not giving her what she wanted. He would not give her the pleasure.
“I will have what I want, Taggart. Or I will rip your balls off and use them for earrings.”
He forced his lips to move. “Is—the chat over? Can I go now?”
“Listen to me very carefully, Dylan,” she said, still squeezing with maximum force. “If you do not agree to work for us in twelve hours—everyone you love will be killed. Or worse.”
Beads of sweat trickled down his face. “Are—we—done yet?”
“Twelve hours. And the longer you delay the inevitable, the more you will see your life fall apart. You will lose everything. Your lover, your mentor, your family, your friends. And you will still work for us. You will simply do so knowing your stubborn stupidity destroyed everyone you care about.”
Even though he would’ve thought it impossible, she squeezed even tighter. And then, all at once, she released him.
Before he had a chance to recover, Xavier pounded his ham-thick fist into the side of Dylan’s head. The pain seared through his skull, and a second later, the noose stiffened around his throat. He fell backward, struggling. The constriction on his neck increased, choking the life out of him. He tried to speak, but the words bounced off his oxygen-deprived brain.
From the fading click of her heels, he realized that Mr. X was leaving the room. “Twelve hours.”
“Thought...you...were letting me go.”
He heard a door close and realized she had left the room.
Xavier hoisted him into the air.
The rope lacerated his flesh. It felt as if the rope went straight to the bone. He pulled futilely on the noose, but his brain was so fogged he could barely think straight. The room swirled and his eyelids were impossibly heavy.
Xavier pressed a sheet of cellophane over his face. Dylan inhaled and the thin plastic film was drawn into his mouth. He couldn’t breathe at all now, couldn’t even try. Bright flashes of light erupted behind his eyes. He felt sick and knew his head would explode at any moment.
Just before Dylan’s consciousness mercifully faded, Xavier leaned forward, his lips twisted in perverse pleasure, and whispered into his ears the last words he would hear, and words with absolutely no comfort in them.
How much are you willing to lose?
Chapter 6
Leilani scrubbed the blood off the hardwood floor, using an industrial strength cleaner to eliminate all traces. The work took hours. The blood and cranial matter had stained the throw rug under the bed. She would have to get rid of that. But she couldn’t discard the floor. So she cleaned. She knew crime scene techs could still use luminol to reveal traces. But she hoped they would never have any cause to do that.
After that monster left, she huddled on the sofa for a long time. But even though those feelings of fear were intense, they could not drown out an even more intense emotion, the most powerful she had ever experienced.
She loved Dylan Taggart. She loved him with an intensity that gave meaning to the word she had never before understood. He was the family she’d never had, and they were on the verge of planning a family even larger. She was not going to let these bastards take all that away from her.
Leilani also knew that this time, finally, she was not alone. Dylan would be doing whatever he could to escape. He was smart. He would come up with something. And when he did, she wouldn’t let these people frame him, not for murder or anything else.
She would protect him, whatever the cost. She would fight for him. She would fight for them.
She had already disposed of the corpse, in the dead of night.
Many years ago, she’d seen a movie where someone rolled a corpse up in a rug and carried it off. She never expected to be doing it herself, but since she had a rug that had to go as well, it seemed the logical approach. Unfortunately, the corpse was too stiff and heavy for her to get it over her shoulder, so she had to go down to the gardener’s shed and retrieve a wheelbarrow. Even then it was tough. But she’d been making her own way in this world since she was fourteen and she’d been a paramedic for eleven years. She was accustomed to tough, to dealing with the dead and dying, to performing unpleasant tasks.
She did it at three a.m., when everyone else in the building was asleep. Moving the corpse wasn’t the hardest part. Doing it quietly was the biggest challenge, especially with her recent leg injury. She got it to her van and drove to the north end of the island, to a secluded area near nothing and no one.
Then she set Frank on fire.
She used gasoline and a match and let him burn until she was certain he would be unidentifiable. The stench was revolting—Barbeque of the Damned, she kept thinking. The sight of melting flesh was so horrifying that after a few minutes she could not watch any longer. But she got the job done.
She dumped Frank off a roadside cliff into one of those wonderfully still-wild parts of Hawaii inaccessible by foot or automobile. She knew it would not be long before the wild pigs found him. Frank’s remains would probably never be discovered, but even if he were, no one would be able to identify him. There would be no crime to pin on Dylan.
French kiss that, you asshole.
Just to be safe, she cleaned her van and searched Dylan’s condo top to bottom for a cocaine stash. She didn’t find one.
So sometimes these people bluffed. That was useful to know.
By the time the floor was scrubbed clean, every task she needed to accomplish was completed, except one. Contacting the authorities.
That was exactly what Pock-Face had warned her not to do. He’d threatened to kill her if she did, if she even tried.
But if she didn’t, what would happen to Dylan? She thought he could find a way to escape—no, she was certain of it. But she didn’t know how long it would take. Or what it might cost him. Better if someone was also working on this end. His chances of success might increase.
She was going to the police. What could they do to her once she was inside the station? She drove to the local police headquarters. Even if the goon squad had some people on the inside, they couldn’t have everyone. She’d take her case straight to the Chief of Police. She’d met him several times at charity functions she’d attended with Dylan. She didn’t believe he could be on anyone’s payroll. He would listen to her.
She parked her car on the street and walked up the stone steps toward the front door.
Her fingers froze just before she opened it.
If you tell anything to anyone, we kill you. After we have some fun with you.
That’s what the man had said. But how could he know? What could he do about it even if he did know?
Not a word to anyone. Or I’ll be back.
Leilani took a deep breath, steeled herself, and forced her feet back into action. She had come this far. She would not stop now.
She opened the door.
Pock-Face stood just inside.
“Miss me, cunt?” He wagged his tongue at her.
She braced herself against the door. How did he know?
“You look good enough to eat, you know it, baby? And yeah, that’s an offer.”
She backed away, but he followed her, down the steps then onto the street.
“I know what you’re wonderin’,” he continued. “If you scream, will someone come in time? The answer is, no. I’ve got a knife in my pocket and you’ll be dead before you get the scream out. I got two guys outside to help me carry your body to the truck. You’ll disappear and never be heard from again.”
She stared at him, lips pressed tightly together. Could she make a run for it? Not likely.
“You’re not gonna talk to anyone, got it? Not the cops, not your friends, not even your goddamn dog. You get one mistake—and you just made it. You won’t get another one.”
“I—I didn’t—”
“And here’s the other thing you need to know. Your Dylan is havin’ a very bad night. But we’re gonna make it three hundred times worse now. We’re gonna do that because you screwed up.”
“No! Please don’t hurt him.”
“Too late. Listen, I didn’t care about you cleaning up the mess in the condo. Hell, someone had to do it. You showed spunk.”
“I—I—”
“Spunk is what gets people killed. Spunk is what gets little girls fucked in the ass fifteen times over and then slowly cut into pieces. And that’s what’s gonna happen to you if you ever try anything like this again. You understand me?”
“I—understand.”
“I hope so. For your sake. Not that I wouldn’t mind havin’ a go at that sweet ass of yours. But I don’t think you’d enjoy it much. So get the hell out of here.”
Leilani ran away as fast as she possibly could. By the time she reached her car, she was running as fast as she could.
She crawled into the car, put her head on the steering wheel and closed her eyes. She hadn’t helped Dylan. She hadn’t helped anyone.
Her mind flashed on her parents, bleeding, their lives slowly oozing away, while she watched. She hadn’t helped them, either. And now they were gone. She’d spent her entire adult life helping people, saving lives. But it seemed she could never save the ones who mattered most.
She’d done everything she knew how to do. But she hadn’t helped Dylan. She’d made whatever torture he was going through worse.
That was the reality she had to face. She’d hurt the man she was trying to protect. That was her fate, the story of her life. She always hurt most the ones she loved best.
Chapter 7
Dylan stood on the coffee table in the living room wearing nothing but his underwear, holding a ten-pound rock over his head. He’d been standing there for almost four hours. He’d wet himself. He tried not to, but after three hours, he couldn’t hold it anymore.
People came and went. They saw him, but they had the courtesy not to say anything. They knew how ashamed he was, how utterly humiliated. Bobby saw him and ran, terrified he would be next. The mailman knocked on the door and Dylan knew that he saw. He didn’t say anything. At least he showed that kindness. But he saw. Soon everyone in town would know. Everyone on the base, everyone in school.
Dylan was twelve years old.
He had tried to sit down, but every time he did, the man in the uniform whipped him with a riding crop. The back of Dylan’s legs bore harsh red marks and they hurt. He dropped the rock several times, which also earned him a whipping. And then the man in the uniform put the rock back in his hands.
“You’ve earned this punishment.”
Dylan knew better than to argue.
“You showed weakness. Weakness is cowardice. And the only cure for cowardice is shame. When the fear of shame becomes more powerful than the cowardice, the weakness ends.”
Dylan’s legs ached so badly he could no longer feel his feet. The rest of the world faded in and out. He heard voices calling to him, but he ignored them. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. He didn’t want them to know he was here. He was so ashamed, wishing he could be anywhere else. And so he let his mind wander, let it take him to a better place, a safer place, filled with love and adventure and thrills, far away from the Shame Table and the bitter humiliation that haunted him and—
The phone rang.
Dylan woke up, startled, naked, in his own bed.
His temples throbbed. He pressed his hand against his head, trying to erase the pain. His stomach and crotch ached. His neck was raw. He tried to pull his head together while he lifted his cellphone from the end table.
There was no mistaking the thick Russian accent on the other end of the line. “Your twelve hours began at noon. You have till midnight.”
Dylan checked his watch, on the end table beside the phone. It was 12:05 p.m.
He was tempted to act defiant, but he knew that would not help him. He had to be clever. They were playing mind games with him. He would play right back. “I need more time,” Dylan said. “To tie up loose ends. Say goodbye to my loved ones.”
Xavier chuckled. “Don’t take too long. Or you will have no loved ones left.” The line went dead.
Dylan swore under his breath. Twelve hours. Not long. He would have to make the most of it.
Every possible scenario ran through his brain. It was like plotting a story—but with a deadline far harsher than any his publisher had ever suggested. He had to see the plot holes in advance and avoid them. There would be no chance for revision. He had to get it right the first time.
Despite the danger and the repulsiveness of his opponents, Dylan couldn’t deny a certain frisson tingling down his spine. He was caught in the midst of an impossible situation—the sort of dilemma he created for Fargo Cody. Now it was his turn. He wasn’t Fargo Cody, he knew that, not by a long shot. But he had to figure out what Fargo would do in this situation. He had to devise a Fargo Cody plan for accomplishing the impossible. The only problem was time. What Fargo Cody improvised, Dylan Taggart spent weeks devising.
He didn’t have weeks now. He had twelve hours. To plan. To plot.
Because working for these people was not an option. And even if it was, he didn’t kid himself about what would happen when they were done with him. After they had what they wanted—they’d kill him.
Xavier and Mr. X were no different from the playground bullies he’d had to deal with during his navy-base schooldays. All bullies are ultimately driven by one thing: a deep, underlying feeling of inadequaCy. No matter how many people they hurt, deep down, they suffered from a profound lack of self-esteem. Insecurity.
He could use that.
He saved Xavier’s number and added it to his contacts list. If the bastard called again from that number, he’d know. Then he dialed Leilani’s cell. Even as he did, he realized his phone was probably bugged or tagged. Maybe hers, too. Mr. X was convinced he wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone. They probably also put surveillance cameras in the condo. Maybe had people watching.
It would not be that hard to contact the authorities. All it took was one phone call. He knew the Chief of Police personally. Knew a few people at the local NCTC office, too. He’d used them as technical advisors on several of his books. He’d even taken them out for dinner. They liked him. They would know he wasn’t just pulling their chain. They would start investigating. Xavier must’ve left a thousand traces a trained investigator could detect. They’d find him and his dominatrix gal pal and shut down their whole insane scheme.
But first he had to make the phone call. Without getting caught. Mr. X had threatened everyone he loved. Leilani, obviously. Dobie—Mr. X had specifically referenced his “mentor,” so they must know about him. Once they were safe, he could make his move.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed Leilani. He knew they were probably listening. So he chose his words with precision.
“Hello?”
“Leilani, is it you? Are you okay?”
“Dylan, oh my God! Is it really you?”
“It’s me, baby.”
“I was so worried. They said—” She paused. He could hear her voice crack. “Dylan—did they hurt you?”
“I’ll live. But I need you to listen to me. Listen very carefully.”
“Dylan, I want to see you. I need to see you.”
“Leilani, that just...” Think, he told himself. If you give in too easily, they won’t buy it. They need to see you wrestling with the decision. “I have a difficult choice to make.”
“What is it?”
“These people—they want me to do something...something that goes against everything I believe in.”
“Then tell them to go to hell. We have plans, Dylan. We have a family to—”
“But if I don’t agree—they say horrible things will happen.”
“Like what?”
“They said...They said...” He let a little choke into his voice. Not too much. He wasn’t going for the Oscar. Just enough to make it believable. “No. I can’t take the risk. I’ve made up my mind, Leilani. I’m going to help them. I’ll be gone for a while. I just have to tie up a few loose ends first.” Let the eavesdroppers think he was giving in. “In the meantime, I need you to be strong.”
“I want to see you.”
“I can’t do that, Leilani. I can’t talk to anyone. I’m going away and—well, I think it’s time for us to say goodbye.”
“But—Dylan! We just said—”
“And I don’t think we should talk anymore.”
“Dylan—”
“And you can’t talk to anyone about this. You must be strong, Leilani. Strong like StaCy.”
Short pause. “But why?”
